


Break the Walls

by graysonsen



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysonsen/pseuds/graysonsen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dulaque kidnaps Ezekiel and Jenkins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break the Walls

There's the slow, familiar dawning of consciousness, and Jenkins tries to remember.

Dulaque was there, in the library, and there was a fog, then a searing, burning pain to the back of his head, then darkness. He opens his eyes, but finds himself still in all-enveloping blackness, and for a moment he panics, but quickly realizes there's some kind of covering over his head.

He's in a chair; ankles bound to the steel legs, wrists tied tightly behind his back. He briefly tests the bonds, straining his muscles against the ropes but all efforts are futile. Hardly surprising, he thinks, knowing Dulaque would never allow carelessness.

He concentrates, trying to get an awareness of the room around him. The temperature is even, the air stale. He can feel smoothly polished concrete under his feet and there's the faintest tinge of a metallic smell in the air… _blood_ , Jenkins realizes, fresh blood. 

He listens, and from across the room he can hear someone breathing, ragged and unsteady. 

"Hello?" Jenkins says tentatively.

"Jenkins," comes Ezekiel's voice, cracked and exhausted, and Jenkins' heart breaks at the sound. "Thought that was you."

"Ezekiel," Jenkins replies desperately, "are you all right?" Which is a ridiculous question, because obviously he's _not_ all right. "What has he done to you?"

"I…" Ezekiel begins faintly, but then Jenkins hears the door open and the footsteps of someone entering the room. Those are expensive shoes, and there's the scent of a particular cologne, one that Jenkins recognizes instantly. "What did you do?" he says, deadly, evenly calm. 

Dulaque only laughs in reply, low and mocking, pulling the covering from Jenkins' face.

The first thing he sees is Ezekiel, naked, tied spread-eagled to a large wooden St. Andrew's cross. His head is hanging down, but he lifts it for a brief second to give Jenkins a weak smile. There's a large cut below his eye that's oozing blood and already starting to bruise, and what Jenkins can see of his body is marked with the wounds of what appears to be a very thorough beating.

Dulaque moves to stand behind him, hand rough in Ezekiel's hair as he pulls the boy's head back up. Jenkins can see Ezekiel's wince, the way he closes his eyes and grits his teeth. "As you can observe," says Dulaque, smiling like a shark, "Mr. Jones has been enjoying our company for some time already."

"Stop it," Jenkins says. "Stop. Why are you doing this?"

"I want to know how to remove the Holy Grail from the Library," Dulaque replies.

"What?" That makes no sense, Jenkins thinks, not even the slightest amount. "You know that's impossible, you know I can't tell you that."

"Oh yes." Dulaque shrugs, releasing Ezekiel's head, which slumps down. "I know you can't tell me, that even if you could, you wouldn't."

"Then _why?"_ Jenkins asks helplessly. 

"Why not?" Dulaque asks. He runs one finger slowly down Ezekiel's spine, making him visibly shiver. "I did rather think," he continues, "that Mr. Jones here might be able to give us more information on the subject, but he's proved to be surprisingly resilient."

"Then let him go."

"And where would be the joy in that?" Dulaque unbuttons his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and hanging it over the back of a nearby chair.

"I don't…" Jenkins shakes his head in useless frustration. "I don't understand what you're doing."

"I imagine you don't, virtuous fool that you are." Dulaque nods at Ezekiel. "He's just your type, isn't he?"

"No," replies Jenkins, and even _he_ can hear the lie.

"But you haven't done anything about that, have you?" Dulaque is removing his cufflinks, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Of _course_ not," he says. "You never do."

Jenkins doesn't say anything, watching in growing horror as Dulaque produces a bottle of lube and slicks up his fingers. He can't drag his eyes away from Ezekiel's face, and he can _see_ the moment Dulaque's fingers enter him. Ezekiel jerks forward, and he lets out a sharply desperate gasp, mouth open, head thrown back.

 _Don't,_ Jenkins wants to say, _please,_ but he knows that will only make it worse, give Dulaque exactly what he wants. Jenkins doesn't have a good view of what he's doing, but he can see enough, Dulaque's arm moving in a rough, violent motion.

Jenkins swallows as Dulaque hums to himself in satisfaction, saying, "My men have made ample use of him, but he's still pleasingly tight." He leans in, pressed up against Ezekiel's back, mouth close to his ear. "You've been very brave," he whispers, the words like venom, loud enough for Jenkins to hear. "So strong, my dearest boy, but that only makes it all the better when you finally break."

Ezekiel closes his eyes, trying to turn his head away, but Dulaque holds him fast, glancing over at Jenkins with an eager smirk before unbuckling his belt one-handed, unzipping his pants. He grunts as he pushes into Ezekiel, who moans in pain, arms straining at his bonds. His whole body moves with every thrust from Dulaque, who clearly isn't holding back, bracing himself to get more leverage, go even harder. "Look how beautiful you are," he says, his hand on Ezekiel's chest, pinching his nipples. "Look at how your friend can't look away."

And Jenkins _can't_ look away, however much he wants to. He's a coward, he knows that, but the one thing he can do for Ezekiel in this situation is witness his suffering, share it without hiding, bear the burden along with him.

But it seems to go on forever, Dulaque pausing every so often to gather himself before he starts up again. When he finally comes, he bites down on Ezekiel's neck with what looks like no small amount of force, shuddering through his orgasm with several last, vicious thrusts. Jenkins can't help exhaling in relief, but he's certain this isn't over.

Not even close.

"Oh, that was very well done," Dulaque croons as he pulls out, caressing Ezekiel's face with a creeping tenderness. He looks across at Jenkins and smiles. "Isn't he just lovely like this?"

And this time, Jenkins can't stop himself from begging. _"Please,"_ he says, and Dulaque doesn't reply, only turning behind him to knock twice on the door of the room.

Two bodyguard types enter, their faces cold and unreadable, muscles bulging beneath expensive black suits. Dulaque gestures at Ezekiel. "I just fucked him," he says. "Clean him up for me, will you?"

One of the men nods curtly, and immediately drops to his knees, parting Ezekiel's ass with large hands and leaning in to lick him with practised, efficient ease. Jenkins can see Ezekiel's eyes widen in shock, the way he struggles against it, but there's no escape.

Dulaque wanders over to stand beside Jenkins, resting one hand on the back of his neck, thumb stroking softly along his hairline. It takes every ounce of self-control Jenkins possesses not to flinch away from the touch. "He suffers so prettily, this one," Dulaque murmurs. "I can understand what you see in him." 

He kneels down behind Jenkins, reaching around him to unfasten his pants, and Jenkins is horrified to suddenly realize he's half-hard. "Oh yes," Dulaque says, taking out Jenkins' cock, stroking it up and down. "You _do_ like this, don't you?" He laughs quietly. "You always did like to watch, didn't you, Galeas?"

"Don't…" Jenkins grits out. "Don't call me that." He's willing his body to not respond, but Dulaque knows him so well, knows every trick and secret touch, and he can't help his reactions, falling down into it, hips arching up into Dulaque's hand. 

"You think I'm despicable, but I'm simply more honest than you," he whispers, his voice like silk, ensnaring Jenkins, making him unable to resist. "You see what you want yet you deny yourself, but I see what I want and I take it."

And Jenkins is coming, eyes shut tight, Dulaque's words poison in his ears, humiliation and shame washing over him like a wave. The awareness that Ezekiel is watching this, _seeing_ him, the real him, what he truly is, makes him sick with dread, bitterness and bile rising up in his mouth.

When he at last opens his eyes, he doesn't look up, keeping his gaze lowered, staring at the floor.

"Well, now," Dulaque says, standing up, his hand resting on Jenkins' shoulder, cold and heavy. He squeezes, long fingers gripping like a vise.

"Do settle in, my son," he says, not letting go. "It's going to be a long night, I promise."


End file.
